


When A Prince Becomes A King

by screamingstrawberry



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Deceit's name is Nikomedes, M/M, Nikomedes and Logan are brothers, Royalty AU, Sleep's name is Remington, sympathetic deceit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-23 19:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15613086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingstrawberry/pseuds/screamingstrawberry
Summary: The war that the three colonies of Foshia had been waging with Lasnye had been going on for decades, but the new generation was here, and the newly crowned King Roman would stop at nothing until it was over. Everything else? That’s just for fun.





	1. Chapter 1

_Prince Roman Whittingham of The First Colony of Foshia._

The name had been wrapped around him like the crown on his head that he now wore almost everyday, like a hug from the father he no longer had. He knew one day that it would happen, that one day he would be staring back at a gravestone with his father’s name on it, he only hoped it would be years down the line. And that he would have had at least a body to bury his father with. 

But like it had done with everything else, the war took that dream from him. And all he was left with was a slab of rock, a name carved into it that felt angry on Roman’s tongue, and the title that had hugged Roman so tightly, had changed. Well it was time for the war to get some well earned payback. 

“Roman,” A voice interrupted him from his daydreaming, and a hand on his lower arm relaxing the fists Roman hadn’t realized he had been clenching. “You are to be at the ball eventually, aren’t you?” 

Roman turned to see his two closest friends his entire life, both also rulers of their father’s colonies, and while they were a couple years older than him and had lost their fathers years ago,, Roman knew they recognized the pain within him. Remington Lethbridge, the oldest and ruler of the Third colony, was the one with his hand on Roman’s arm. His dark brown eyes were shining with sympathetic sadness, and also was the one pulling Roman up off the ground and toward the door that had led Roman into the cemetery hidden in the back gardens of the castle his great grandfather had built. 

Nikomedes Shackleton, the king of the Second colony, whose father had been the first of the boys to pass, was the voice who had interrupted Roman’s pity party. Nikomedes father had been quite famous, almost as famous as Roman’s, when he had adopted his second wife’s bastard son, Logan, as his own. Logan Shackleton now resided as Roman’s Royal Advisor,  not only as a favor to Nikomedes, but because over the years Roman had gotten to know him quite well and the man’s understanding of political strategy was outstanding. Even if he was a bit of an ass sometimes.

“It’s about time you showed up.” Logan said, when Remington had finally managed to pull him inside, Nikomedes falling behind them as the group of four moved throughout the back halls of the castle, heading toward Roman’s dressing rooms.

When they reached the room, Nikomedes and Remington left to entertain the guests that had already arrived, the party started at sundown, it had been about half an hour since then. Logan shoved Roman behind the changing wall, throwing flashes of white toward him and berating him to hurry. In record time, one minute and fifteen seconds, Roman emerged throwing his father’s signature red sash over his shoulder. It was a little big, his father had been a bit of a larger man, but looking at the standing mirror in his room, Roman decided he didn’t look to bad. 

“I was-” Roman tried to explain as Logan walked over to button the top button of Roman’s shirt, and to adjust the crooked crown on top of his head, but Logan clicked his tongue, silencing the king. 

“I know.” He spoke with a blatant warmth in his tone, and when a small, slightly toothy, smile emerged on the Royal Advisor’s face, Roman couldn’t help but let one fall on his own face as well. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Roman, glancing over himself again in the mirror as Logan walked around him, tugging on the waistline in the front of his pants, to pull them tighter, and then he stuck the string where you couldn’t see it with the length of Roman’s shirt. 

“Honestly, you’re quite frankly, a mess, your highness.” Logan said, rolling his eyes as he started to push Roman back out the door to where they both could hear the loud voices of the hundreds of people gathered in the Whittingham Castle. Roman whined, kicking a little bit like a child to try and fight, but when Logan all but through him into a column, he gave up and walked on his own, following the Advisor.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know. We’ve been friends since childhood.” Roman said, staying behind Logan up until they reached the top of the steps that led down into the center foyer, where the guests were entering. Roman could see a few faces he’d recognized from around nearby villages, and he was sure that they could see him, up here, stalling. He turned back to Logan. “And you’re technically a prince.”

“Not without the official title. I’m a bastard, your highness, we don’t own titles in Foshia.” Logan said, turning Roman around to face the stairs, and the crowd, checking one last time that everything on him was perfect. 

“You’re my Royal Advisor, isn’t that enough of a title for you?” Roman teased, although Logan could tell by his tone he was nervous. They both were, they knew what Roman’s father rule was. He would have the crown, as king not as Prince or the Crown Prince he was now, when he was 18 if he was married. If he not, the congress of Foshia would pick him a bride or a groom. Roman, ever the romantic, hadn’t wanted to take that chance. Logan, knowing the old men on the committee, hadn’t wanted him to either. 

“Of course it is, your highness. Now please go find yourself a nice husband, this isn’t like tightening your trousers, I can’t do it for you.” Logan laughed behind him, and a smile crossed Roman’s face again at the sound, his friend was truly too sweet. Even if he was an ass sometimes. 

Roman had started descending the stairs for about thirty seconds before a servant below him announced him, and all gazes in the room fell on him. It was about a hundred people, maybe more, Logan had sent out the call for families in all of the colonies with eligible bachelors around his age. Roman didn’t imagine there were so many families willing to marry off their children, but then when Logan had given him the number earlier that week, Logan had reminded him that he was a soon to be king, after all. So, channeling the years of nobility training and the laugh his Royal Advisor had given him a moment ago, he flashed a wide Roman smile, and descended the stairs.

Life would’ve been so much easier if he could just marry Logan. 

But alas, he was a bastard as he reminded him, and a queen’s bastard no less, something that would not do well for the First Colony’s image. Plus, Nikomedes had called his little brother off limits, little twat, Roman thought as he bowed as he reached the bottom. Nikomedes and Remington joined him at his side, with Logan somewhat behind him, and they headed out to the ballroom off to the right of the foyer. Most people were in here, and when Roman and his friends entered, everyone stopped what they were doing to clap. 

The group of four walked with elegance, anyone watching would be able to tell that not only were they quiet close but they were an alliance to be reckoned with, something Lasyne could attest to. Roman was of course at the front, after it all it was his night, Nikomedes and Remington at either of his side with their heads held high and charming, and Logan behind his brother, smiling too but sternly. Once they reached the middle of the room, Logan held his hand up over his head, calling the room to attention as the clapping stopped abruptly. Eyes glued to Roman as he cleared his throat, and smirked. “Let the party begin.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The Barracloughs had rules for everything, something Virgil had known from the day he was brought into the world. Stand with intimidation, speak with false solace, and always let Patton be first. Being the younger of two sons of one of the most famous lords in the First Colony. Virgil knew what it was like to respected, to be feared, to be envied. He knew what it was like to sit behind and watch his older brother’s beauty dazzle and entice. 

He also knew what it was like for the soon to be King to pick him first. 

He hadn’t been doing much, standing off in a corner watching Patton get passed off from nobleman to nobleman, his bright smile making it easy for Virgil to find one of his own. Their father had rode over with them, but left early, with no less than a hand grabbing Virgil’s shoulder tightly, reminding him that tonight was for Patton. Like every night. 

Not that Virgil minded, his brother was loving, a little bit naive, but deserving of a King to adore more than anyone in Virgil’s eyes. And the fact that Patton always pulled Virgil along, kept him at his side and sung his quiet little brother’s praises, just made it that much easier to lean against the pillar, hopefully not gaining anyone’s attention. 

“You seem far too attractive to be standing by yourself, sir.” A voice broke him from his gaze of following Patton as he was twirled around the ballroom. Virgil turned his gaze fell not upon the chocolate eyes of the stranger or the prideful broad shoulders he carried himself with, but to the crown on top of his head. 

“Your highness.” Virgil bowed his head, like he was taught, and the soon to be King laughed. A sound that Virgil would classify as nothing other than the best thing he’s ever heard. His gaze drifted upward and watched an amused but contained smile spread across the tanned face, before the soon to be King reached his hand out and lifted Virgil’s chin gently until he was standing upright again. 

“No need for that. It dehumanizes me.” His voice was enchanting to say the least, but Virgil was more surprised at his diction. Logically, he knew that Princes took classes to speak clearly and confidently, but he also had kind of expected him to be a bit of spoiled brat. “Call me Roman. And you are?”

“Virgil, your-Roman.” Virgil blushed, holding his hand out in front of him, like his father had shown him since before he could walk. “Virgil Barraclough.” 

“Your Roman, eh? Lets not get ahead of ourselves.” Roman chided, smirking as he did so. A thoughtful expression crossed him, like he was tasting name before nodding and addressing Virgil again. “The Barracloughs were an ally to my father, you are a friend to me.” 

“Is that how you actually speak?” Virgil let slip before he could control himself, he resisted the urge to comically slap a hand over his mouth and instead settled for sheepishly trying to hide his head in between his shoulders. But then he heard Roman laugh again. 

“Could you imagine?” His voice was lighter, a little sarcastic if Virgil deduced it correctly. “Quite honestly Virgil, you intrigue me.” 

“I thought you weren’t talking like that anymore.” Virgil said, confused. He tried to flick his gaze to where Patton may be. From what he could see he was dancing with someone in a dark brown a suit, seemingly oblivious to what Virgil was going through. His thoughts were quite frazzled, his palms a little sweaty, breathing a little quick. But he also felt airy, like you could knock him over with the smallest gust of wind, and he didn’t mind one bit. 

“I’m serious.” Roman stepped in front of his line of sight, all but blocking him from the rest of the party. Virgil would normally be intimidated, try to reinstate dominance in his stance, but instead he relax, leaning more against the pillar the soon to be King had all but backed him up against. “You don’t believe me?”

“Nothing about me is particularly intriguing.” Virgil smirked and shrugged, check-mate. He wasn’t incorrect. He was in a relatively unattractive black suit, as to not stand out against Patton’s powdered blue, the only color on Virgil was the purple tie he’d picked out. His hair was parted in a way he didn’t like, boring, and his face was almost ghost pale from days spent in the library rather than out in the garden with his brother. 

“I disagree.” Roman replied. “You’ve broken all of my rules.” 

Virgil was not one for breaking rules. “Rules, your highness?” 

“Roman.” The soon to be King reminded him. “They’re more strategies than rules, but the statement stands.” 

“You talk an awful lot for a King.” Virgil said, no longer wanting to curb his tongue. At the very worst, Roman find him crude and turn his attention to Virgil’s brother. 

“Not a King yet.” Roman replied, his gaze had not left Virgil the entire conversation before now, when he looked over his shoulder quickly. “And aren’t we in power supposed to talk a lot?”

“And yet they never really say anything.” Virgil crossed his arms. 

“You see that man over there?” Roman pointed across the ballroom to where a somewhat short man in the ugliest yellow suit Virgil had ever seen was talking with a woman about a foot above him. He was the King of the Second Colony, Nikomedes Shackleton. “He’s my friend Nik.” 

“So casual.” Virgil replied, throwing his arms down and shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“The plan was to make a trip around with him and Remington, letting them pick out their favorites and their own picks for me. Then I would go on my own, get personal with a couple of the more attractive guests, and do one last one with my Royal Advisor, for him to give me his, well, advice.” As Roman spoke his head moved about in front of him, dancing and performing, but they were barely in his peripheral because his eyes lit up as he narrated and Virgil couldn’t help but feel something warm settle into his abdomen. 

And just like that, just as he recognized it as attraction, or rather affection, strong and unwavering, everything ended. A man in dark blue came over, and started to speak to Roman in a whisper before turning his attention to Virgil.

“Forgive me, good sir.” The man nodded, the glasses on his face drooping a bit giving Virgil a view of steel blue eyes. Damn it. Was everyone in this castle so damn attractive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment and a kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

“Virgil, this is my Royal Advisor, Logan.” Roman smiled, watching as the two shook hands. Opinionated and educated Logan was reduced to a stuttering mess of a man, and the snarky and quick witted Virgil he had come to know in the past few minutes was nothing more than the bright red blush on his face. 

This was going to be fun, Roman thought to himself.

Roman made to turn away and let the two get to know each other, only to have his arms filled with a young man. His crowned clattered to the floor, but Roman was faced with the backside of a powdered blue suit. The wearer also had short curly red hair and Roman made to speak, but the man cut him off.

“Oh dear.” A delightful voice said, the man in his arms turning around. He was beautiful. Round glasses shaped bright green eyes and a tanned face littered with freckles, drawing Roman in, as he continued. “I’m so clumsy, didn’t mean to run into you there, good sir.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Roman squeaked, coughing at the end of his statement. “I wouldn’t mind running into you again, or you running into me for that matter.”

The man didn’t so much as respond as he did squeal, but thankfully Logan, ever the conversation saver, reached down to pick up the King’s crown off the ground and dusted it off to place it back on Roman’s head. “Your crown, your highness, it would do you well to keep it on your head.”

“I’m surprised it fits.” Virgil laughed. “With his ego and all.”

“How dare you!” Roman gasped, holding a hand over his wounded heart, but it was undermined in the way Logan laughed and a made a noise of agreement. 

“Virgil!” The man chided. “That’s not nice.”

“Do you two know one another?” Roman asked, the two pairs slowly morphing into a group of four around the one pillar Virgil was leaned against. Nikomedes and Remington were closing in on them as well, having noticed their friend caught up in this corner of the room for quite some time.

“This is my older brother Patton, your highness. Heir of the Barraclough estate.” Virgil replied, a smile fighting it’s way onto his face, but Roman was sure even Logan could tell how it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Patton. It’s a name that rolled off his tongue, had a nice chip there in the middle that carried some power in it. He liked it. Very much. Roman had got so caught up in tasting the name on his tongue that he hadn’t noticed his friends behind him.

“That matters very little to Roman.” Nikomedes laughed, it was a sound that surprised even his own brother as he came up behind them, his hand on the back of Logan’s shoulder. Remington was next to him as well, stealing away Patton’s attention for a moment. “Tell us of his character. Of his person.” 

“Patton’s smart in his own right, caring and giving almost to a nurturing point, and kindhearted to a fault.” Virgil said, the smile still on his face morphing upward, and yes, it did reach his eyes. Anyone could see that he cared for his brother, maybe too much, as Roman noticed even as he talked to them his eyes were following Patton as Remington finally released him from their conversation.

“What are you all discussing?” Patton bounced back at Roman’s side, Roman’s attention snapping to the way his smile, though bright and beaming and genuine,  almost wavered. It would do for someone as beautiful as him to feel wary.

“Your brother was just telling me about how wonderful you are.” Roman attempted to smirk down at the shorter man but was jarred by Logan coughing behind him. Knowing him long enough, it was probably to cover up a snort or a scoff, so instead Roman settled for shooting a glare his way. 

“Was that really the best-” Virgil got interrupted by the dreamlike sigh that came from his brother, who could not be any more obvious if he had his heart on his sleeve, which he basically already did with the doe eyes he was staring at Roman with. “Well, at least someone can put up with you.” 

“You know I have never met someone who speaks to the king that way. You are either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid.” Logan said, and Roman could almost see the gears turning in his friend’s head. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Virgil laughed, trying to bite back the small wound that pricked his skin at the comment. Roman only hoped the sharp tongued man saw Logan past the spectacles, the monotone voice and sometimes insulting nature. The two might be able to get along quite well. They would, if it were up to Roman.

“Yes. I would.” Logan replied, leaning a bit closer, as if that would give him the answer to his unasked question. Yes, they would do fine, Roman decided, watching as Virgil blinked rapidly for but a split second before trying to regain composure. 

Silence trickled among the rest of them, Remington basically sleeping standing up as he normally did, but Virgil and Logan were sharing quite indiscernible glances. Roman was trying to turn his head subtly and sneak glances at the short man next to him, who was bouncing on the back of his feet, smiling at the blush on his brother’s face. 

“So brother,” Logan turned, satisfied with what he found on Virgil’s face apparently, before turning to Nikomedes. “Anyone catch your eye?”

“Don’t ask him, ask the American that will be waiting for him by the kitchens in less than an hour.” Remington mumbled. Patton and Virgil both seemed surprised, Logan made his noncommittal noise that he did when he gained new information but didn’t know what to do with it, and Roman yelped in congratulations. People around them turned their attention to the King to be, and Roman shrugged his shoulders in apology, turning back to three of his friends who were now blushing. This newly acquainted Virgil, who was still recovering from Logan’s close observation of him, Nikomedes, who was trying to move on from this American that Remington mentioned, and Patton, who giggling softly despite his blush, hopefully at Roman’s outburst.

“I suppose you should return to making your rounds, your highness.” Logan sighed,and Roman could tell that he couldn’t pick up on cues very well. Roman didn’t mind the attention, so that made parading around to different suitors not so bad, plus in the end he would get a husband out of it. Logan was not so lucky. 

“Actually,” Roman cleared his throat, the other members of the small group of six turning to the King, their eyes shining with respect and subservience. It almost stopped Roman, he realized at a young age that many people would look at him like this, that he would never truly be an equal to even Remington or Nikomedes. And that hurt, because in that moment, they had been laughing like they’d all only been childhood friends met through school. 

A soft warmth brought attention to his right where Patton had his hand on his shoulder, smiling softly but just as bright and inviting and it made it nearly impossible to not want to lean forward and kiss against the muscles that made it. It urged him to continue speaking too, but on his own terms, and he soon found that he would do anything to keep that smile directed at him. 

“Actually Logan and Remington, if you would like to entertain our new friend here, Nikomedes can go meet his American and,” Roman turned his body completely told Patton, the hand he had had on his shoulder dropping to his forearm, “Patton could be so kind as to join me on my rounds? If he would like to, of course.” 

Roman watched Patton go to answer, his mouth hung open a little adorably for a second before turning to Virgil, silently asking permission. Virgil nodded his head, Roman would have to ask him later why the older of the two was asking permission, because he certainly didn’t get the chance to as Patton pulled him away by his arm linked to his. He turned his head back, watching his friends get farther away but not feeling the least bit bad about it to be honest. Remington was half asleep anyway, Nikomedes was to meet some American that Roman needed to know about, and Logan looked completely enamored with watching Virgil mess with the sleeves of his suit jacket. Plus how could Roman resist Patton’s giddy, patient smile, as he waited to be introduced to one of the nobles Roman had directed them towards? 

Truth was, he couldn’t. 


End file.
